Shit Claims to Fame II
My car was in the Specsavers advert with the old lady and the loud stereo. Not me. My stupid blue Nissan Micra. Tell us about your brushes with fame.
Suggested by Amorous Badger
( , Thu 20 Sep 2012, 15:49)
My car was in the Specsavers advert with the old lady and the loud stereo. Not me. My stupid blue Nissan Micra. Tell us about your brushes with fame.
Suggested by Amorous Badger
( , Thu 20 Sep 2012, 15:49)
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One day in a cafe
The man looked with weary disdain at the repast laid before him: a plate piled high with limp, glutinous food that seemed robbed of much of its colour saturation and, he assumed, suffering from a similar lack of flavour. He sighed. This kind of sub-standard fare had become a quotidian occurrence, ruining his once-healthy appetite and reducing mealtimes from a cause of celebration to an ordeal to be endured. He picked listlessly at something that may have been made of potato, or meat; there was little difference in structure, tactile sensation or even taste between the various constituents of his meal. Each part had a patina of dimpled grease sticking to its surface, congealing as the heat dissipated from the food into the ether. He gently placed down his knife and fork and stood up.
"Sir! Sir! Do you want your bill?" asked an effeminate waiter, looking with alarm as the man broke away from his daily script, ad-libbing actions that he had no ready answer for.
"I won't be paying today," replied the man, slowly and deliberately. "This food is swill."
Their conversation was interrupted by a fat, naked man leaping through the plate glass window and executing a perfect commando roll. He leapt to his feat with a speed and grace which belied his bulk, and starting twanging his stubby penis like a stringed instrument. In the confusion, the man slipped away from the restaurant, vowing never to return.
"What the hell?" asked the visibly shaken waiter.
"Search me, buddy", replied Tony Way. "I only came in to give you this."
With that, he slapped first one, then the other of his sizeable buttocks, kissed the waiter full on the mouth, and ran off as quickly as he entered.
( , Tue 25 Sep 2012, 10:54, 3 replies)
The man looked with weary disdain at the repast laid before him: a plate piled high with limp, glutinous food that seemed robbed of much of its colour saturation and, he assumed, suffering from a similar lack of flavour. He sighed. This kind of sub-standard fare had become a quotidian occurrence, ruining his once-healthy appetite and reducing mealtimes from a cause of celebration to an ordeal to be endured. He picked listlessly at something that may have been made of potato, or meat; there was little difference in structure, tactile sensation or even taste between the various constituents of his meal. Each part had a patina of dimpled grease sticking to its surface, congealing as the heat dissipated from the food into the ether. He gently placed down his knife and fork and stood up.
"Sir! Sir! Do you want your bill?" asked an effeminate waiter, looking with alarm as the man broke away from his daily script, ad-libbing actions that he had no ready answer for.
"I won't be paying today," replied the man, slowly and deliberately. "This food is swill."
Their conversation was interrupted by a fat, naked man leaping through the plate glass window and executing a perfect commando roll. He leapt to his feat with a speed and grace which belied his bulk, and starting twanging his stubby penis like a stringed instrument. In the confusion, the man slipped away from the restaurant, vowing never to return.
"What the hell?" asked the visibly shaken waiter.
"Search me, buddy", replied Tony Way. "I only came in to give you this."
With that, he slapped first one, then the other of his sizeable buttocks, kissed the waiter full on the mouth, and ran off as quickly as he entered.
( , Tue 25 Sep 2012, 10:54, 3 replies)
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